


Valentine's Day

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Backstory, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Funerals, Gen, Hostage Situation, Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The LA Dollhouse is invaded by a team led by a man known to Adelle, one Valentine Raye; his intention is to steal imprints for firm that is competing with Rossum. When Adelle refuses, Valentine shoots Dominic.</p><p>The next part of the story is told in flashback. When Adelle's father died, Dominic accompanied her to the family home in Hampshire where he met the rest of her family. The DeWitt family has more than its share of secrets and in-fighting, and taken aback by Dominic's support of her and the only relative she cares about, Adelle let down her guard and allowed her relationship with Dominic to move into the personal and physical.</p><p>Back in the present, Adelle, both cursing herself for letting herself get involved enough to care for Dominic, and yet wanting to save his life, makes a deal with Valentine. If he allows Saunders to save Dominic's life, she will order Topher to hand over the imprints. Now it's up to Topher, ordered to imprint Victor, Sierra, and Echo to assist Saunders, to find a way to not only save Dominic, but to save the Dollhouse itself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contains violence (on par with show); strong language (some explicit); minor sexual scenes (not explicit); mention of past accident/suicide by non-canon character. Spoilers throughout season one, though set very early season one.  
> Beta'd by sevendayloan with heartfelt thanks.  
> Written for [Jossverse Big Bang](http://community.livejournal.com/jossverse_bb) As such, there is associated artwork for this fic by the talented miss_atom :

Adelle was furious. Outwardly her stern expression was the only indication of her rage; inwardly she was cursing like a trooper and vowing bitter and bloody revenge.

She still wasn't sure how this had happened. The plan had been carefully orchestrated, that much was obvious; her guards all killed or otherwise incapacitated, electronic locks bypassed, security doors opened with ease. The cameras had been tampered with and it was too late for her to be proactive when Valentine Raye stormed into her office, gun pointed at her.

So she'd reacted; had reached for the panic button under her desk but Raye shot her desk lamp, the glass shade shattering into a million pieces, forestalling her movement. Calmly, Adelle had put both hands on her desk.

"Valentine. How nice to see you again."

He was tall and lean with bronze skin and a gold stud earring in his left earlobe. An Armani suit was practically his trademark and the breast pocket held a pair of designer glasses. His hair, jet black, was short and neat.

"Don't let's waste time with pleasantries," Valentine had said. "Come."

So now Adelle was seated with the rest of the dollhouse personnel. The actives and almost all of the handlers were visible. Most of the handlers were cuffed and sitting on the floor. The other staff, art teachers, masseurs, caterers, and so on, were corralled in one corner by a large burly guard with a semi-automatic.

The actives were distressed, both at this unprecedented interruption to their routine, and the violence that they'd witnessed. They were at least allowed to sit on the comfortable furniture, though this privilege seemed lost on them. Boyd was sat next to Echo, the only handler not on the floor. Dr Saunders was on a sofa to the right of Adelle, with one arm around a sobbing Tango. A bemused India was braiding her own hair.

A guard with a black eye was handcuffed to a low table. Mr Dominic, with a bruise on one cheek and a cut on his lower lip, glowered from his seat on a sofa to the left of Adelle. That Valentine had left two men guarding her security chief told her that Dominic hadn't gone down without a fight, at least.

Adelle shifted on the soft, low sofa, and tugged at her skirt hem. She had about six hours before the regular check in that was required by the head of a dollhouse; when she didn't answer the innocuous looking email that dropped into her inbox, the Center would be alerted and help would be dispatched.

Six hours was a long time.

She spotted a dead body – dressed all in black with a red insignia on one shoulder, just like the rest of Valentine's SWAT wannabes – and let a smile touch her lips.

Valentine caught her gaze and gestured with his weapon to Laurence Dominic. "His doing. I take it he is your head of security?"

"Maybe not for long," Adelle said evenly. "Letting the house be taken captive is not something he should have allowed to happen."

"It's not my fault," Dominic snapped. "They've got Juliet!"

"Juliet?" Adelle asked. Surely Dominic would have had no hesitation letting an active die if it meant protecting the house.

Valentine nodded. "Your Mr Early was kind enough to bring her to us."

Early was Juliet's handler; if he'd defected and joined up with Rossum's competitors then that was another matter entirely. An inside job, Adelle reflected. That would explain a few things.

At that moment Juliet herself entered the holding area, dressed in a combat uniform and wielding an Uzi.

"Sir," she addressed Valentine. "There's a problem."

Adelle spotted Ivy, her white coat visible among the other staff, but she still saw no sign of Topher. She was assuming he was the problem. Good. Let him be a pain in someone else's ass for a change. God knew he was brilliant, but sometimes Adelle could cheerfully strangle him – or at least enjoy the fantasy of doing so.

"The lab?" Valentine asked. "It is imperative we gain access."

Juliet pouted. "Rance would not allow me to open fire."

Valentine lifted an eyebrow. "Quite right. We need the lab intact and the technician alive."

Topher wouldn't like being called a technician, Adelle thought. Of course he insisted his job title was "Genius" so he was used to disappointment. Meanwhile, it was reassuring that Valentine wasn't here to destroy the technology, though she was duty bound to do everything in her power to prevent him from stealing it, up to and including destroying it herself..

"Juliet," Victor said plaintively. "Why are you doing this? We are your friends."

Juliet pointed her gun at him. "Quiet!"

Sierra, huddled close to Victor, gave a shriek and Victor quickly reached for her, cradling her head against his shoulder and holding one of her hands in his. He lowered his gaze and, satisfied, Juliet began to pace, weapon at the ready.

"I want to go swimming," Mike said miserably.

"I know," Adelle said. "Maybe later."

Valentine grinned at that and she raised an eyebrow.

"How sweet, Del," Valentine said. "Almost…maternal."

Adelle kept quiet, though bridling at the "Del" nickname". Mr Dominic however had apparently had enough of seething silently.

"You know this idiot?" Dominic snapped.

Adelle nodded. "Mr Raye was once employed by the Rossum Corporation."

Valentine spun around, looking at the interior of the room. "Yes, that's true. All this could have been mine. This is very nice, Adelle, very nice. The wood panelling, the stained glass; it's exquisite."

"I'm sure you're not here to admire the décor," Adelle returned. "I have to tell you, Valentine, if you're here to steal my actives, think again. They are under my protection."

Valentine laughed. "First of all, Del, you are in no position to deny me whatever I want. Secondly, I have no need of your soulless trash. We have our own…volunteers. Thirdly, I find it ironic you talk of protecting them when one wrong word from them could have them sent to the Attic." He glanced upwards and pointed.

"Where you should have been sent," Dominic opined. One of men guarding him hefted their weapon and brought the butt down across his already bruised cheek. Valentine held out a hand in a gesture of calm and the guard stood upright and stared straight ahead.

"As you've apparently reprogrammed Juliet, I'm guessing you have access to some sort of technology based on Rossum's Corporation's designs." Adelle glanced to Boyd. Why was he not with the other handlers?

Valentine nodded and lowered his weapon, tapping the barrel gently against his leg. "It's not as refined as yours," he admitted. "But we're getting there with the imprinting process; the problem is with downloading the imprints in the first place. We've had some…incidents."

There was the sound of a small explosion, a hiss of a gas. Adelle had to force herself not to jump to her feet. Echo looked up, puzzled. Then there was a yell and the sound of footsteps. Topher, propelled by the man Juliet had referred to as Rance, came barrelling downstairs and was flung to the floor in front of Adelle.

Topher raised wide, red-rimmed eyes to her. "They blew the door open," he said and coughed. "There was smoke everywhere."

"It's all right, Topher," Adelle said gently.

Topher nodded, taking strength from her calm reserve, and straightened his chequered shirt over his faded Star Wars T-shirt. He pulled himself to a kneeling position. "I rigged the machinery," he said. "Just like protocol says to."

Warmth spread through Adelle's chest. Darling Topher! Next time she felt the urge to choke him she'd remember this and have no problems restraining herself.

"That," Valentine said, "is very unfortunate. You see, what I need is the imprints."

Topher blinked a few times. "Who are you?" His cockiness was fast returning. It occurred to Adelle that this might be because he had been more afraid of her reaction for his allowing the lab to be breached than he was of the armed men. A thought that amused her, despite the seriousness of the situation.

"This is Valentine Raye," Adelle said. "He's working for one of Rossum's competitors. They've reprogrammed Juliet."

Toper's mouth fell open. "Not. Possible."

Valentine gestured to Juliet. "Tell the boy who you are, Miss."

Juliet saluted. "Sir! Lt Sara Scofield!"

Topher shook his head. "No, no, no, I sent her out as Clarissa Wade, Miss Sunshine, for the client who wanted to screw a beauty pageant winner." He was upset at the thought anyone could have tampered with what he thought of as his art and Adelle sympathized.

"It appears Mr Early double crossed us," Adelle said. "He handed Juliet over to Valentine's hack programmers to tamper with and then used his access codes to breach our security. Believe me, I am just as cross about it as you are, Mr Brink. Don't worry, though. We can hunt him down later."

"No need," Valentine interjected. "His corpse is with those of some of your guards; littering the parking garage. I wouldn't allow someone with his lack of loyalty to live, knowing what he knew about me."

One less problem then, Adelle thought, and returned to reassuring Topher. "We can also worry about what exactly they did to Juliet later. Right now, we just have to listen to Mr Raye's proposal."

"It's hardly a proposal, Del," Valentine said. "You give us the imprints and I let everyone live."

Topher's lip trembled and for a moment Adelle thought he was going to cry. Pull yourself together, she thought, before realizing that he was actually trying not to giggle. After a moment he gave up and laughed out loud. He got to his feet, despite the fact that this made Juliet, Valentine, and Rance all point their guns at him.

"You want the imprints? Seriously? Not only are they locked up and I don't suggest C4 as a means to destroy the locks in case you destroy the data, but they're only readable by our software. You can't just drop a disk into a PC and access the data." Topher flung his arms wide and Adelle inwardly winced and prayed he wouldn't get himself killed.

Apparently oblivious to the danger, Topher walked over to Valentine in order to speak very closely and carefully. "These are people's lives. The amount of data is massive. We're talking terabytes. The files are not only compressed by a software design I improved upon tenfold, they're encrypted. Let me say that again. Encrypted. By me. Trying to hack into them, or unzip them like a win.rar will irretrievably corrupt the data – "

"Topher," Adelle said warningly and he obediently glanced over his shoulder at her and then back at Valentine. That he might be irritating the man with a gun he'd already used with little provocation finally occurred to him.

Swallowing hard and backing up quickly out of Valentine's personal space, Topher said, "The point is, you can't possibly steal the imprints without my help."

Valentine considered this. He gestured with his weapon, making Topher flinch.

"Sit," Valentine said, not unkindly, and Topher did so, not looking where he was going and almost landing in Boyd's lap.

"Sorry, man," Topher apologised reflexively.

Boyd grinned at Topher. "I like drawing," he said happily.

Topher gave him a blank look almost as good as the one Boyd was sporting and looked to Adelle who almost imperceptibly shook her head. Ah, Boyd was pretending to be an active. Maybe he had a clever plan. She did hope so.

Valentine stroked his chin. "In that case, you shall help me. I'm sure my employer will reward you for your assistance."

"Um, I'm not sure you can offer me a better deal," Topher said. "I get perks." That a trampoline and an endless supply of juice boxes might be the deciding factor in his loyalty was an amusing thought to Adelle despite the circumstances.

"Perks can duplicated," Valentine said. "Even improved upon."

Topher looked to Adelle, fear vying with interest in the impromptu job offer showing as confusion on his face. He wanted guidance from her and she was happy to give it.

"Topher, I forbid you to assist Mr Raye in stealing our imprints," she said briskly. "Know this. If you in any way collaborate in the theft or duplication of any of the imprints I will have you killed in a slow and painful manner of my choosing."

Topher looked to Valentine, happy, for once, to have been put in his place. "She would, you know."

Valentine nodded. "Yes, she would. But it's her or me." And he hefted his weapon again.

"Please," Echo said. She was, Adelle had noted, the calmest of the actives. "No-one has to die."

"That's true, pretty one," Valentine said. "But I have my orders. I need some imprints. The one we have is fairly limited." He nodded to Juliet. "She's a soldier and that's all she is. She has no real personality; she couldn't even effectively pass herself off as an actual soldier for very long. Keeps forgetting the details we've tried to embed, such as her parent's name.

"Besides, weapons proficiency is only a small part of what makes someone useful. We need scientists, computer programmers, linguists, analysts. We could have been civilized about this, Adelle. My employers were willing to pay to purchase a selection of the finest imprints. But Rossum wouldn't play ball."

"Our imprints are classified," Adelle said, "and too valuable to be given to the likes of you."

Valentine looked at the ceiling and his lips moved as he silently calculated something. At last he turned back to Adelle. "Give me twenty imprints. A decent selection as I've outlined. No military personas if it will soothe your conscience. Then we'll leave, no harm done."

Adelle shook her head. "I cannot make a deal. You know that."

Valentine gave a sigh of regret. "Then I will have to start killing people." He pointed his gun at Topher.

"You need me!" Topher shrieked, trying to shield himself behind Boyd. "I'm the only one who can work the technology! I said I rigged it and I did! If you touch anything you shouldn't, without my access codes, it all goes bye-bye! Wiped! Blank slate! Tabula Rasa!"

Adelle stood. "Enough," she ordered and Valentine pointed his weapon at her instead. "He's telling the truth. If you kill him no-one will be using the system until a full security reboot takes place and even I can't authorise that!"

Valentine's lip curled in disgust. "Fine. What about one of your precious actives?" He gestured to Boyd. "What's with this one? He doesn't look like the others."

Adelle, knowing this might come up, had a story ready. "He was a custom design," she said smoothly. "A bodyguard for a client's daughter. The client didn't want someone like Victor-" and she pointed to the active, "alone with his lovely young innocent girl. He was afraid she might not remain so innocent given such temptation. After the year long engagement ended, I decided others might benefit from such an active. He has a very reassuring demeanour."

Valentine accepted this without question. "Well, maybe not him, anyway. Maybe I'll let you pick, Del. Which one don't you like?"

"No. I will not choose people for you to murder," Adelle said simply. "Valentine, you can be a ruthless bastard, but do you really think killing people will change my mind?"

"Maybe not," he acknowledged. "On the other hand…" He pointed his weapon at her. "Maybe I'll just shoot you, let your lackey know I mean business. If he's not afraid of repercussions from you, perhaps he will be more forthcoming."

"No!" Dominic got to his feet and tried to put himself in front of Adelle.

"How sweet," Valentine said.

"It's my job," Dominic snarled.

"I hope they paid you well for it," Valentine returned, and pulled the trigger.

Sierra gave a muffled scream. Topher swore. Echo ducked, though trying to keep an eye on what was happening; Boyd and Victor stayed still as statues. Juliet tipped her head as if interested but unconcerned.

Adelle felt the impact as surely as if she'd been hit herself. She stepped forward, saw the red blossom spreading over the pale blue shirt. Dominic seemed stunned as he looked down at the blood and then sank to his knees. She crouched down and put one arm around his shoulders to try to prevent him from falling forwards.

"Adelle," he said and it took every ounce of her self control not to weep.

Saunders prised Tango away from her and got to her feet. "Let me help," she demanded, though her voice shook a little. "I'm a doctor."

Valentine nodded. "Go ahead, doctor. It will give Adelle chance to reconsider."

Adelle let Saunders help her lay Dominic on the floor. While the doctor began her examination, Adelle stood and turned on Valentine.

"Any deal we might have made is now off the table," she hissed. "I said I was responsible for these people and I meant it."

Valentine lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. "You were unwilling to deal," he said. "But I think I have hit a nerve here, yes? I saw the way he looked at you."

Adelle fought panic and nausea. "He is merely an employee," she lied. "A valued and loyal employee. That is all. But that is enough reason for me to refuse you now. If he dies you will leave here empty handed."

"Just an employee! Ha!" Valentine looked down to where Saunders was crouched, trying to stem the blood flow. "I once accidentally killed a man this way; I shot out a lung and he died very quickly. It was very unfortunate. So now I aim lower; it gives us all time to consider our options. But the blood loss will kill him eventually. That said, there's no need for the wound to be fatal, if you cooperate. He has maybe a ninety per cent chance of survival."

Adelle looked to Saunders. "Is that true?"

Saunders turned sad eyes to her. "With prompt and appropriate care, barring vascular injury, sepsis, or other complications," she said, as if reciting it from a textbook.

"You can do this?" Adelle asked urgently. "It is within your capabilities?"

"There's blood in the infirmary, drugs, a surgical suite." Saunders hesitated a moment.

"But?" Adelle prompted, impatient. Dominic's life was slipping away drop by drop and she didn't have time for any ethical considerations or whatever else was making Saunders dither.

"I need to stop the bleeding and then I can assess the internal damage," Saunders explained, "but I can't operate alone."

Adelle let her gaze move from the bloody shirt to Dominic's face, pale and pinched with pain. She made her decision. It was a gamble of the sort she didn't approve of, but her options were severely limited and despite herself, her emotional balance was off.

"We'll deal," Adelle said, turning to face Valentine, and squaring her shoulders defiantly. "But if he dies, the arrangement is off."

"No." Dominic's assertion was a harsh whisper. "Adelle, don't-"

She knelt at his side once more and took one of his hands in hers.

"Let me handle this," she said. He swallowed hard.

"Wear red," he told her. Adelle shook her head softly.

"There'll be no need." She blinked away tears and forced herself not to reach out and touch his hair. She should never have let herself get involved with him. Then again, she doubted she could have stood by and watched impassively if it had been Boyd who was injured and not the man she'd been having an illicit affair with. She was criticized as heartless where a man would be said to be stoic but she still retained some humanity beneath the cold, professional, exterior. Humanity Dominic had witnessed firsthand, during the events that led to their first ill-advised foray across the professional boundaries, events he was now referring to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flashback continues; the day of the funeral arrives

_(earlier)_

At seven twenty-eight Dominic was at the dining table. Cara, in a large fluffy bathrobe, looked up and smiled.

"Morning Laurence. There's coffee in the pot, and Dylan's burning breakfast."

"Morning," he greeted, even as Dylan yelled from the kitchen.

"Hey, I heard that. You don't have to eat it." Dylan waltzed in, balancing three plates; one full of bacon, one laden with sausages, one piled high with toast. "I need to finish up the eggs. Careful, I warmed the plates."

Cara leant over to kiss his cheek as he put the last plate down. "Thank you, darling."

Whistling in delight, Dylan went back to the kitchen. Dominic poured himself coffee from the pot on the silver tray sitting on the table.

Adelle joined them, wearing another loose sweater, and what looked like pyjama leggings. After the usual greetings, she poured coffee and looked askance at the breakfast.

"Dear Lord, how many people does Dylan think he's cooking for?"

"I have a hearty appetite," Dylan retorted, entering with a plate of eggs, some fried, some scrambled. "Anyway, we need to be well fed before we can face the onslaught. Dig in while it's warm, people."

As everyone began to eat, Dylan said, around a mouthful of scrambled egg, "I didn't make tea. Cara says I still need more practice at it. I mean, it's pour hot water on a bag of tea leaves, how can I get it wrong?"

Cara shook her head. "Yet you do."

Dylan waved his fork at Dominic. "Nice suit," he said. Dominic was dressed in his best black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie.

"You do have a suit?" Dominic asked archly. Dylan was wearing the same jeans as yesterday, with a faded blue t-shirt.

"Course, but I wasn't going to wear it to breakfast. Might spill something on it," he reasoned.

When they'd finished eating – and Dylan had, indeed, spilt tomato ketchup on his t-shirt – Cara offered to clear away.

"Let me," Adelle said. "No, Laurence, no need to help," she added as he made to speak up. "I wouldn't want you to get anything on that rather fetching and expensive suit."

Dylan put on the television in the lounge and flipped to the news channel. Dominic joined him and they made small talk about the science stories.

Adelle and Cara went to change for the funeral, and Dylan, who'd wandered over to the window and was examining the vases, suddenly gave a moan of despair.

"Do you want a drink, Laurence?"

"A little early," Dominic said, thrown.

"Don't be so American," Dylan said as the doorbell rang. "And don't blame me when you have to suffer Penelope sober."

Bethany and Penelope, Dominic recalled, from the stories and explanations accompanying the looking through photo albums, were sisters.

"You get the door," Dylan said, darting off to the kitchen. "I'll be having a beer in the garden."

Feeling like he was suddenly a footman, Dominic went to the door and opened it.

"Can I help you?" he asked stiffly. Hell, he only had Dylan's word for it that this was Penelope, (the photos of her had only shown her as a rather young girl) and he wasn't going to risk being made a fool of.

The woman straightened up, clearly insulted that this idiot didn't know who she was.

"Where in the world is Adelle?" she demanded.

"Upstairs, getting ready," Dominic told her. "I understand the limousines aren't due until ten."

From her reaction, he might as well have called her an ugly old hag or slapped her across the face. She actually reddened in rage and pointed one blood red fingernail at him.

"Now, look here young man," she began.

He never did get to hear what threat or statement of fact she was about to unleash on him – nor did he ever get to understand why a woman only a year or so his senior would call him "young man" – because at that moment Cara came to his rescue.

"Penny!" she called. "Laurence, it's okay. She's our cousin."

Dominic gave Penelope a bow, which everyone knew was in mockery rather than respect, and she swept past him. If Adelle was, as Cara had said, regal, like a queen, Penelope thought she was Empress of the goddamned Empire.

Cara clutched at Dominic's arm. She was, he noted, wearing a tight sleeveless black vest top with what looked somewhat like black cycle shorts that came just above her knees. She was also barefoot, and without makeup, clearly interrupted mid-dressing by Penelope's arrival. He liked the natural look on her and it reminded him of how wonderful Adelle looked even without cosmetics. She'd been without any makeup after her shower, and had applied only a light foundation and lip gloss, if he was any judge, before they went out to the pub.

"What?" Dominic mouthed at Cara, who was shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Cara shook her head, eyes damp with the effort of self control.

"Dear Lord, it smells like some sort of greasy spoon in here," came Penelope's outraged tone.

Dominic frowned and Cara let a giggle slip out.

"Um, we're not having the do here," she called. "You know that. Bethany booked the conference room at the golf club." To Dominic she whispered, "It's a sort of cheap and cheerful restaurant, a greasy spoon."

Then she fled upstairs, leaving him to deal with Penelope. When he went into the lounge, she was rubbing her finger across the dining room table like a hotel inspector.

"Disgraceful," she sniffed. "And who are you?"

"Laurence Dominic. I'm a friend of Adelle's," he said.

She looked down her nose at him; he'd always thought of that as an expression rather than what someone actually did. "American," she said, more a derogatory statement than a question. "Though those are rather Italian names, are they not?"

"I'm sure you'd know better than I would," Dominic sniped.

Adelle came into he room and put herself between Penelope and Dominic. That she was in a skirt and heels with just a lacy black bra didn't seem to faze her in the least. It made Dominic feel that he was in some really weird porn flick; "Four Orgasms and A Funeral" or something equally inane, where all of the women kept wandering around in various states of undress.

"Penelope, dear, where's Derek?" Adelle asked brightly.

"Overseeing arrangements at the funeral home. You know how people will make mistakes if you don't watch them like hawks." Penelope sniffed delicately. "I just came to see if you needed any help."

"We're fine," Adelle smiled. She took a step back and took Dominic's hand, squeezing it once. "Although, Laurence, would you come and help me upstairs? I can't get my window shut."

*

Adelle had been trying on her two different pairs of shoes with the three different skirts she'd packed, trying to decide which look she preferred, when Cara – also only half-dressed - had come running into Adelle's room at full pelt.

"Oh, Addie, Penny's here!" she'd squealed. "And your Laurence opened the door and he said…" Here, Cara had lapsed into laughter. When she caught her breath, she'd said, "He said,-" and she tried to imitate Dominic's cool demeanour, "'I understand the limousines aren't due until ten. ' Can you imagine that?.."

Adelle had turned on her heel, stunned. "He said that? To Penelope?"

Cara had just nodded.

"Was there bloodshed?" Adelle had asked, half hopefully.

"No," Cara had replied, shaking her head. "I told him to let her in. But you ought to go and rescue him, Addie. He doesn't deserve her wrath – especially if you're not even sleeping with him." She'd grinned mischievously at that and purred, "You're not, are you?"

"No," Adelle had said sharply. "Fine. I'll go and rescue him. 'I understand the limousines aren't due until ten'. Oh, my word."

That, she thought, would be a family joke for years to come. She just wished she'd seen the resulting expression on Penelope's face. It had been years since anyone had talked back to her about anything.

When she'd retrieved Dominic, she closed her bedroom door and leant against it.

"You had a lucky escape," she told him. "Penelope is what you might call a harridan, if you didn't find it a sexist term since there isn't a similar phrase for a man of the same disposition. And when you meet George, the lack of suitable insults for a DeWitt male will be quite obvious."

"I was armed," Dominic said, undaunted "I'm not sure I understand what I did wrong. Well, the bowing was probably a bit much. What was so wrong about telling her what time the cars were due?"

"You wouldn't understand," Adelle said, "suffice to say, that Penelope is used to being known, respected, in short, worshipped. You dared to put yourself, however temporarily, in her way. And you're American. She probably thinks I want to marry you, and with Imogen vowing to be single – she might be a lesbian, I'm sure I don't know her enough to comment any more on that – and Cara marrying an Australian…well, she thinks we're letting the side down. Of course, George, being male, isn't pressured by these social conventions. He can be the playboy as long as he likes."

"Misogyny runs in the family. Check," Dominic said. "I'm surprised they let you get so educated."

"Ah, but education is mark of good breeding so they had little choice," Adele reminded him. She glanced down. "Please excuse me. I needed to come and rescue you. I feared you and Penelope were about to launch the anticipated family crisis."

"No problem," Dominic said.

"Hmm," Adelle said noncommittally. She went to the wardrobe and pulled out a black top. Sleeveless, it had a polo neck, and decorative black buttons ran from one side of the collar to the shoulder, while black floral embroidery decorated the front, curving around the left breast and ending at the hip.

Adelle held it against herself and looked in the full length mirror on the door critically.

"God, I wish I could wear red," she said. "I hate the pretence. I hate pretending I'm mourning. I hate the hypocrisy of it all. And I hate this obsession with wearing black to funerals because of some outdated social dictate. I like wearing black, and I don't see why it should have been co-opted for such a sombre occasion. I want to wear red and to hell with it all."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling."

"I'd ramble too if I were related to Penelope," Dominic said, boldly.

Adelle laughed at that, and he smiled.

"I should have gone with Dylan and hid out in the garden," he said ruefully.

"Ah, you're never one to hide," Adelle said, slipping the top over her head. "You'll always throw yourself into danger, especially to protect me."

"That's what you pay me for," he said gamely.

"That I do," Adelle said. "Right, I'll do my make up and Cara wants me to help her with her hair, then it'll be tea, and probably something stronger, and by that time," and she let a laugh bubble past her lips, "it will be ten am and the limousines will be due."

*

The funeral was as predictable as Dominic had expected. He stood by Adelle's left side, with Cara to her right. Dylan, who had scrubbed up rather nicely, was next to Cara, holding her hand tightly. George, who seemed to have a permanent sneer on his face, and who had arrived only just before the funeral began, stood next to Dylan, glowering occasionally at his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

Cara cried, though whether this was genuine grief, or simply due to the overall atmosphere and heart wrenching words from the minister, Dominic couldn't guess. Adelle stared straight ahead the whole time, sitting and standing as the minister requested, but not participating in any of the hymns or prayers.

Finally it was over, and they made their way to the graveside, Dylan with his arm around Cara. She'd added a long black skirt to the outfit, and a black blazer, but she was shivering, though it wasn't really that cold.

A few further utterances from the minister; then Adelle, Cara, George, and some of the other relatives and attendees threw flowers onto to the coffin, and it was done.

*

The conference room was busy, with people talking animatedly. Dominic was certain that most of the people here were business associates of the late Mr DeWitt, and were using it as a networking opportunity. He'd been introduced to a few more of the relatives and realised Adelle had been right. If the women were mostly uptight, self-absorbed creatures, the men were mostly arrogant, self-important types. So far, no-one, not even Bethany, had tried to engage him in conversation and his cover-story had gone unused.

Adelle seemed to know everyone, but he knew that if necessary she would have researched the guest list in order to be prepared. More showmanship. It really did run in the DeWitt line.

Except Cara, he noted. Possibly because she was a DeWitt in name only. He'd heard Penelope make some disparaging remarks about Cara and filed them away for future reference. "Childish", "foolish" and "a disappointment" were some of the choicer statements. The only good thing was that she was finally getting married, "unlike _some_" (no doubt meaning Adelle and the possibly-gay Imogen) even if it was to an Australian.

"I suppose could be worse," Penelope had confided to the man she was talking to, who looked as if he might well die of boredom from the sheer terrible lacklustre of life itself. "At least he's part of the Commonwealth." And she looked daggers at Dominic, who smiled broadly at her. Clearly she hadn't thought him listening, but she wasn't about to be intimated, least of all by an American, so she simply hoisted her chin higher and changed the subject.

What the hell did Penelope know, Dominic mused. What did marriage have to do with maturity? Why should Cara's obvious sense of humour and willingness to mock herself and the family be so hated? Aside from Adelle, whose quiet dignity he'd always admired, the rest of the actual DeWitts were so uptight they could be mounted on shooting sticks and placed in a gallery without anyone noticing they were flesh and not stone.

A petite black woman approached Adelle, who bent graciously to kiss her on one cheek.

"Miriam," Adelle said. "Thank you for coming."

"I wanted to make sure the bastard was dead," Miriam told her. "Are the vultures circling?"

"George has put on too much weight to circle the block," Adelle opined. "I intend to fly back to Los Angeles early tomorrow and not look back so I should avoid the worst of the backbiting."

"You're leaving Cara alone?" Miriam asked, surprised.

"She's not as fragile as anyone, including herself, thinks she is. Besides, she has Dylan now. If he can't stand up to George than he won't survive long in the DeWitt family." Adelle drained her glass of wine.

Miriam and Adelle exchanged a few pleasantries about their respective work, and then Miriam moved on to talk to someone else. Adelle turned and caught Dominic's eye. She wandered over to him.

"Are you terribly bored? Have you been subtly insulted?"

"Not so subtly too," he replied. "I'm not bored, though. Too many people here for me to feel comfortable."

"They don't all want to kill me," she said, then froze. She reached out and clutched at his sleeve. "Dear God. Howard."

Dominic followed her gaze. A tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a beige suit had just entered the room.

"Who's Howard?"

"He worked with my father for several years," she said. "He was part of the family; was even involved with my aunt Abigail for a while. Then he defected; sold us out. Made a fortune by helping my father's competitor reach market-readiness first. Bastard." Adelle's grip tightened on Dominic's arm in her rage. "Get rid of him. Now."

Dominic went immediately, tugging his jacket free of her grasp. He went over to the newcomer.

"Excuse me, Howard, is it?" Dominic said.

The man glanced down at him, taking advantage of his superior height and his assumed superior class.

"Yes."

"I'm afraid you have to leave, sir," Dominic said.

Howard twisted his thin lips into a sneer. "I am here to pay my respects to my late colleague," he said.

"I don't care," Dominic said, evenly. "Get out or I'll take you outside."

"Is that a threat?" Howard said, in disbelief.

Dominic was getting sick of these people and their supposed high ground. Just because they were wealthy, they thought they could treat everyone like crap.

"Does it need to be?" he asked softly, arms akimbo, but ready to duck, punch, or even draw his concealed weapon if needed.

"Is there a problem?"

It was Dylan. He'd shucked his jacket as soon as they'd entered the conference room, and his shirt sleeves were rolled back to his elbows. It was the first time since his removing his jacket that Dominic had seen him without a glass in his hand. The smile was wide and friendly but it didn't reach his eyes.

While he didn't need the help, Dominic appreciated the gesture of support.

"I'm sorry, gentleman," Howard said, "but I do not know either of you. I would like to talk to Adelle DeWitt."

"She doesn't want to talk to you," Dominic said. "This is your last warning. Go."

"Hiding behind your lapdog?" Howard bellowed.

Dylan, angry on Dominic's behalf, took a menacing step forward. "Watch your mouth," he said. "This is a funeral."

People were looking, obviously, and Adelle now stalked over to join them.

"You betrayed us, Howard," she said through clenched teeth. "You are not welcome here. After what you did, you're lucky you're not rotting in a ditch somewhere."

Howard glanced at Dominic and than at Dylan, weighing up his options.

"I only came to pay my respects."

"You came to gloat and possibly even try to weasel your back into our good books. Or maybe you came to talk to my father's friends, try and convince them to get into bed with you so you can fuck them over too?" Adelle made a noise of contempt. "Get out, Howard. And watch your back."

Dylan put his hands on his hips, mirroring Dominic's stance, and glared at Howard. They looked like mismatched bouncers at a rather odd nightclub. Finally Howard snorted and turned on his heel, walking away as quickly as dignity would allow.

"Asshole," Dylan commented. Cara came to join them, pale and shivering again.

"Oh, darling," Adelle said. "It's okay." She quickly lowered her voice. "It's unlikely but possible Abigail may have let slip to Howard about Cara's father."

"He won't come back in a hurry," Dylan said. "Let me get you a brandy, Cara. That'll warm you up."

She nodded and he went on this new errand. Adelle pulled her half-sister close, wrapping her arm around her. "Sssh, it's almost over," she said.

"Can we go back to the cottage?" Cara whispered.

"Very soon," Adelle promised.

"I can't stand these people," Cara said.

"None of us can," Adelle reassured her.

Dominic reached over and took one of Cara's hands. It was freezing. He chafed it between his own hands, trying to get the blood flowing again. Dylan returned with the brandy and took over holding Cara while she gulped at the alcohol.

"Five more minutes," Adelle said, checking her watch and weighing up her social obligations. "I'll say some goodbyes. Look, go and wait in the car, Dylan."

"Sure." He took his fiancée outside, to their obvious relief.

Dominic trailed obediently after Adelle while she made her excuses. If Howard was the worst thing he had to deal with on this trip, he considered it had been an easy ride.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flashback continues; one last family disagreement rears it's ugly head. Thankful for his intervention and support, Adelle finds herself wanting to be with Laurence. This leads to their first sexual encounter.

_(earlier)_

Unfortunately, Bethany and Brick (Dominic hadn't heard anyone call him by any other name as yet) and George all followed them back to the house. Adelle could hardly refuse to allow him inside, and there was an uncomfortable silence as everyone stood in the lounge.

"What do you suppose will happen to the cottage?" Bethany asked thoughtfully, looking at the ceiling beams.

"It's mine," George said. "Or it should be. As the only son, I expect to gain a suitable share of the inheritance."

"And by share you mean all of it," Adelle said.

George, face flushed with alcohol, glared at her. "You don't care for your own country anymore, so I don't see as you have any right to anything in it. Not the houses or the money."

"And I don't want it," Adelle said. "I've done quite well for myself. I am a woman of means, George. Some of us haven't needed daddy to bail us out of their financial messes."

"I was misled by my financial advisors," George bellowed. He looked at his glass, which was empty.

"I'll get more drinks," Dylan said and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Now, George, settle down," Brick said, reasonably. "Poor Harvey's barely cold in the ground. There'll be plenty of time to deal with the will later."

"Shut up you moron," George said. "Just because you married Beth, doesn't mean you're a part of this family."

Bethany's lips pulled into a tight line and she nudged at Brick with her elbow. Brick, however, didn't seem inclined to defend her honour (or his), either physically or verbally, and he simply said, "You're drunk. Go back to your hotel."

George, however, wasn't done. He turned now on Cara, who was sitting in her customary place next to the fireplace.

"Some of us are only pretending to be family. They have the name, but not the blood, isn't that right?" He leant over her and she shrank back.

"Enough," Adelle said warningly.

At the sound of Adelle's voice, Cara found the strength to slip sideways away from George and get to her feet.

"What, Adelle? You think she's a DeWitt? Scared little creature like her? With her giggling and her worthless degree and her goddamned Anglo-pilferer boyfriend? She's an interloper, a cuckoo child, a weed in our family tree! She's a bloody mongrel –"

Finally incensed, Cara slapped George across the face.

There was silence. For a moment everyone froze. Dominic however, was on alert, anticipating what might happen next.

George put one hand to his burning cheek and then raised his own hand to deal a similar or worse hit to Cara. She shrank back, but unnecessarily, because before George knew what was happening he had been grabbed by his shirt from behind, spun around, and thrust forwards until he was rammed against the dining table.

George struggled but one arm was now being twisted painfully behind his back. His uninjured cheek was pressed against the polished mahogany. A kick behind one knee sent him almost off balance, but the grip on his arm was strong and the table had most of his weight, the edge digging into his hip.

"You like hitting women?" Dominic asked in a low, angry tone. "You want to take it outside and try to give me a beating, huh? I'll even give you a free chance at the first blow."

George was drunk and angry and not as in shape as he thought himself; Dominic was almost stone cold sober, and bringing his extensive skills in hand to hand combat to bear on his opponent. It was no contest and even George had to realise that eventually.

"Mr," Adelle began, caught the slip. Possibly it was seeing him in a more professional capacity, in that he was incapacitating someone posing a danger to her or those in her care, but she quickly corrected herself and addressed him less formally. "Laurence. Thank you. That's enough now. I'm sure George realises how foolish that was."

Dominic nodded but didn't relinquish his hold on George.

"Apologise to Cara," he said. He could almost feel Adelle's gaze of disapproval at this disobedience, but he would not release George until he got the apology. When it wasn't immediately forthcoming, he applied a little more pressure to the arm that was in real danger of breaking. George gave a shriek in pain.

"S…sorry."

Dominic released George so suddenly that he fell to one knee and then onto his side on the floor. He glared daggers at Dominic as he dragged himself to his feet.

"Goddamn Americans," he spat.

Dominic shrugged. "I never pretended to be anything else. You, on the other hand, pretend to be a gentleman. What's your excuse?"

George limped out of the room. Cara, pale, ran over and threw her arms around Dominic's neck before he could protest. She was shaking and he wrapped his arms around her instinctively. Adelle joined them, touching Cara's shoulder gently.

"What's going on?" Dylan asked as he strolled into the lounge, pint glass in hand. "Did George fall over the doorstep again?"

Dominic and Adelle switched places so that she was holding her sister tightly, leaving Dominic free to turn his anger on Richard.

"Cara smacked George across the face," he said.

"Good for her," Dylan said and Dominic couldn't disagree. Still…

"George was about to retaliate," Dominic said.

Dylan's eyes narrowed. "If he hurt her –"

"No," Adelle said. "But only because Laurence stepped in. I am afraid you have made an enemy of him, Laurence, but since we're going home tomorrow and your social circles never overlap with George's except where I am concerned, you shouldn't worry too much."

Dylan nodded. "Thank you."

"Where were you?" Dominic demanded. "She's to be your wife. You need to look out for her."

Dylan gestured with his glass. "I was getting a pint. I can't be there 24/7, even if I want to. Look, I'm taking her out of here tomorrow and if the Fates are kind, we won't cross paths with any of the insane DeWitt family for years after this." To Adelle, he hastily amended, "No offence. I didn't mean you."

Bethany gave a gasp of horror at this, but no-one, not even her husband, paid her any attention.

"None taken," Adelle assured him.

Cara was forcing a smile now, tucking her hair behind her ears. She crossed the room to Dylan.

"I'm all right," she said. "And you know what? Let's buy that smallholding in Machynlleth."

*

Adelle sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. Although she'd undressed and was now wearing only a white cotton nightdress with lace detail at the straps and hem, she wasn't in the least bit tired. Bethany and Brick had left shortly after the incident, and they'd all relaxed a bit more then. Still, she felt somehow on edge.

On impulse she got up and padded, barefoot, into the hallway. She knocked on Dominic's door. She heard the bedsprings creak and then he was at the door, opening it just enough to see who it was. When he realised it was Adelle, he opened the door fully and was on alert, expecting trouble.

"Is George back? I didn't hear a car."

He was weaning grey pyjama bottoms but was otherwise naked. Adelle let her eyes run over his lean frame, taut pectorals, trim waist.

"No. Nothing like that." She took a step forward and he automatically backed up into the room. Adelle followed, nudging the door closed behind her. The bedclothes were crumpled, disarrayed further by his hasty exit, she guessed. The gun was on the nightstand; he'd obviously felt the need to keep it close, yet hadn't brought it to the door. Dominic stifled a yawn and rubbed at his temple with one knuckle.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Adelle said. She hadn't had that much of a plan, truth be told. "You've been a tremendous comfort to me during this trying time. And I very much appreciate your protectiveness towards Cara."

He nodded. "I like Cara." He started to say something else, hesitated.

"What is it? Speak freely." There was no dressing table in this room, but there was a chair and Adelle moved to sit on it. With his employer seated, Dominic felt he was allowed to sit also, and plonked himself down the edge of the mattress.

"I hope I didn't overstep my boundaries earlier. With George."

A smile played on Adelle's lips.

"God knows he had it coming," she said. "And as far as anyone knows you're my friend and not my employee so there is no question of boundaries."

Reassured, he nodded. Adelle leant forward, intentionally displaying her cleavage. She wished she'd chosen something a little more seductive to wear, but when she'd been packing for the trip, sex had been the last thing on her mind.

"Laurence, we have one night here. Let's not be employer and employee. Let's be –" and she discarded the word 'friends' and thought about using 'intimates' and finally settled on, "together."

"Together?"

Adelle licked at her lips, suddenly feeling more awkward than she had in a very long time. "I find myself attracted to you, despite the impropriety of it. And if we weren't here, I wouldn't be saying this. But we are here. Not in LA. Not in the Dollhouse. Not as Ms DeWitt and her Head of Security, but as Adelle and Laurence. Friends, associates….lovers, if you want."

He swallowed reflexively. "Um, it's been a long day," he said," and you've had quite a lot to drink."

"I'm not drunk," she told him. Not stone cold sober, either, but well aware of what she was doing. "If you want me to go I will and we'll never speak of this again." She stood, walked over to him, pressing her knees to his. "Do you want me to go?"

He clearly didn't because suddenly his arms were about her waist, and then his hands were on her buttocks. He pressed his face to the curve of her belly, and Adelle leant over him, both hands on his shoulders.

"Laurence," she said softly.

She didn't quite remember how she ended up naked, though she recalled tugging at his pyjamas until he removed them. She remembered the kisses though, warm and urgent, on her throat, on her breasts. She remembered feeling him running his tongue down her body, and his hands, strong but gentle, pulling her thighs apart.

She let him take the lead, merely tried to savour the experience. She was in control all of the damn time and right now she wanted to be careless, wanton. She wanted this man.

This man, who she'd once thought so cold, who would guard her with his life, who had been more of a support than he could ever imagine through this whole terrible debacle, who she'd grown to trust, to care about. She wanted to have him, and for him to possess her body, at least for this one night.

Adelle always got what she wanted.

*

Afterwards, she curled up on her side and delighted in the warm afterglow of orgasm Laurence pressed kisses to her bare shoulder.

"We have to go home tomorrow," she said and she hadn't meant it to sound as sad as it did. He drew back, and she cursed herself for having reminded of the reality they'd put aside for this night.

She rolled over to face him, put one hand to his cheek. "I don't regret this. Not a moment of it."

"And tomorrow?"

There was no easy answer to that.

"Tomorrow, as Scarlett O'Hara pointed out, is another day. Right now, I want to sleep." She considered leaving, going back to her own room and the cold bed that awaited her. Then Dominic leant over and kissed her on the lips once, more.

"Good night, then."

Adelle snuggled up close and he held her tightly. She slept well, feeling relieved, and safe, and loved. Some time in the night he released her, because when she awoke the next morning he was already in the shower.

*

The goodbyes were brief, with handshakes and hugs, and Cara promising she'd be out of there by that afternoon. They travelled to the airport in silence and Adelle busied herself reading a newspaper while they waited for the flight.

As they approached Los Angeles, Adelle smiled wanly.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Mr Dominic."

"It was my pleasure, ma'am," he replied.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in the present, Adelle orders Topher to imprint Echo, Sierra and Victor with medical staff imprints in order to save Dominic's life. Topher has a plan.

The professional distance she'd put between them on the flight back to LA had lasted for a while, but once breached, it had been impossible to put back together as securely it had been before. They were discreet, they were careful, and their intimate encounters didn't happen with regularity, but they did happen.

Adelle was now wishing she'd thrown caution to the wind and fucked him every opportunity she'd had. She also knew this was just panic and grief and to be ignored at all costs. What she needed now was to be calm and regain control of the situation.

What she needed was to save Dominic's life.

"I'm listening," Valentine said. "What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?"

"Let Topher unlock the computers. He can imprint some of the actives to assist Saunders." Adelle didn't dare look directly at Topher, though her peripheral vision informed her his jaw had just dropped in shock. There was nothing she could do to warn or inform him though. She had to trust him on this. "When I am convinced Mr Dominic is out of danger I will authorise Topher to download a maximum of fifteen imprints to your storage devices."

Valentine beamed. "I said twenty, but I'll take seventeen."

"Very well." She'd had to try and negotiate; it was her duty.

"I knew you had a weakness, Del. Fine. Rance, help the doctor take our Mr Dominic up to the infirmary. Then stay there and stand guard."

Adelle turned to face Topher, face carefully blank. "Saunders needs a surgical team. Victor, Sierra, Echo," she said. "Imprint them. Surgeon, anaesthetist, scrub nurse. Now."

Topher stared at her, then glanced over to where Rance was hauling the wounded Dominic to his feet.

"Are you serious?" Topher asked, bemused. "You said you'd kill me if I helped them steal the imprints!"

"Well now I'm telling you that I'll kill you if you don't!" Adelle gestured. "Go! Imprints, now! I am relying on you, Mr Brink."

Topher touched Victor's arm. "Come on," he said. "Time for your treatment. And bring Sierra. Echo, you as well."

Echo looked to Boyd, puzzled, and not happy about this.

"This doesn't seem like a good time for a treatment," she said.

"Treatments are good," Boyd soothed, staying in character while trying to reassure her. "They help us be our best."

Echo lifted her chin. "Yes. I want to be my best."

Topher led the three actives away. Sierra shrank away from those holding guns, clutching Victor's arm. Echo strode proudly behind the three, dignified as a queen.

Adelle returned to her seat.

"Why don't you sit, Valentine," she said. "I'm sure it will be a while. And there's a spare seat." She nodded to Dominic's empty chair.

Valentine grinned and complied. "See, Adelle. This is more like it. A little cooperation earlier and I wouldn't have had to shoot your lapdog."

Adelle smoothed her skirt down again. "I could hardly just hand over the technology," she said. "Now at least when Rossum fires me, I can say I was acting from an ethical perspective."

"Always about appearances," Valentine said. "That's what this whole Dollhouse is about."

Adelle had no desire to engage in a debate with him and stayed silent. Five and a half hours. It was up to Topher now.

*

Topher's fingers flew over the keys as he unlocked the security protocols he'd put in place. He'd had precious little time to do even this and now Adelle was ordering him to undo it.

She wanted imprints? He'd give her imprints. Luckily the bored guard Valentine had sent with Topher would have no clue as to what Topher was doing as he compiled the personalities.

Victor was drumming his fingers impatiently on his crossed forearms as Topher imprinted Echo. Sierra was focussed, waiting. They'd have to do. And if this went wrong, he hoped that Valentine shot him the head instead of leaving him for Adelle to deal with.

*

"It's going to be okay," Saunders soothed.

Whatever drugs she'd given him had at least taken the edge of the pain, but Dominic was fairly certain he was far from okay. He was not reassured when three familiar figures approached the operating table.

"God, no, not these dolls," he begged.

"I'm sorry, Laurence," Saunders said desperately as Sierra moved to the head of the table and took up the oxygen mask. "I can't do this alone."

"Let's get on with it," Victor ordered. "Lives to save."

It was the last thing Dominic heard before Sierra rendered him unconscious.

*

Meanwhile, Topher had been escorted back downstairs. He'd refused point blank to download any of the imprints; Adelle had said that Dominic had to live for her to make good on the deal, and he intended to back her play. He'd made sure to leave some of the security measures in place, just in case. Without his access codes, Valentine wouldn't get anything.

There were jugs of juice, water glasses, and bowls of fresh fruit on the low tables when he returned to his original seat.

"The actives were getting hungry," Adelle said as Topher took a banana from the bowl.

"It is lunch time," Topher grumbled, annoyed at having to eat fruit instead of a candy bar.

"You imprinted the actives?"

Topher nodded as he peeled away the skin and bit off the top of the banana. "They're with Saunders now. Best medical team I could put together."

"Very good." Adelle sipped at the fruit juice.

Boyd was peeling an orange for Tango, who had complained about the juice getting under her nails. He glanced at Adelle who blatantly ignored him.

It looked as though Boyd had come up with an idea of his own to save the House. Whatever the plan was, Topher thought, he hoped he hadn't messed it up.

*

Adelle appreciated how hard it was for Topher to sit still. He was naturally fidgety, and the hours of waiting were taking their toll on him, she knew. Some of the actives had been given crayons and drawing paper and were sketching silently. Tango had drawn Juliet with her gun and a mean, sharp-toothed grin; Valentine had laughed at that.

Finally, Saunders came downstairs, trailed by Victor and Echo. Adelle stood as the doctor approached her. Victor moved to the left, Echo to the right.

"I'm sorry," Saunders said.

Adelle fought a wave of dizziness. No. God, no. She cared about him, how dare he die on her, how dare Valentine take him from her, how dare Saunders not save him…..God, what now, the deal was off, the conditions unmet, what now, oh, _crap_, if only she was armed!

In the split second after Saunders made her pronouncement, Valentine too was caught up wondering what would happen to the deal now, while Adelle ran through what she'd wear to the funeral (something red, as he'd requested? God, how had he even remembered that inane conversation?) and how she'd word the eulogy and if she'd have Victor imprinted as Roger in order to make harsh yet passionate love to her afterwards to drown out the pain, or if she'd be too drunk to care. She ought to have had him downloaded, she thought, a copy of Laurence made so that he could have lived on in another body…ethically wrong, but maybe sometimes, put him in Victor…what kind of life would that be? Better than none? Yes, a download, a backup copy, God she had backup copies of her damn emails but not the people she cared anything for, and Topher, yes, he ought to be backed up too because the boy was a freaking genius and irreplaceable….and wasn't Dominic, too, irreplaceable and what on earth was she going to tell his family, surely he had family…

Adelle was only roused from this maelstrom of emotion when she heard a struggle going on, a struggle that didn't last long.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Dolls retake their House

Victor stepped back and pulled off his gloves.

"Not a bad job," he said, pulling the mask from his face. "I think that will heal quite nicely."

He leant over to drop the gloves into the metal bowl that was already holding bloody swabs and the bullet fragments. Echo saw him palm a scalpel from the instrument tray and her brow furrowed but she said nothing.

Victor strode over to Rance. "You can tell your boss," he said, "that despite his best efforts, Mr Dominic will survive."

And then Victor plunged the scalpel into Rance's neck and pulled on the blade, splitting the flesh apart. Blood spurted forth and Rance's hands went desperately to his neck but Victor stepped away, scalpel in hand, and there was too large a cut for Rance to close it over.

Rance opened and closed his mouth a few times, then fell over, dead.

Sierra began berating Victor in Russian. Maybe he understood the langue, or maybe he just guessed what she was complaining about because he responded to her with, "He was one of the bad guys."

Saunders nodded. "Yes, he was," she said, stunned by the amount of blood pooling on her floor. "But we are doctors." Sierra gave a noise of agreement.

"I'm not just a trauma surgeon," Victor informed her coolly. "I'm a soldier and I'm damned if I'm going to let my squad be harassed by a bunch of bullies with rifles."

Saunders suddenly understood. A trauma surgeon who'd served in the military was a good choice. They had a lot of experience in far worse injuries than this one. It also explained why she'd had to nag him to close the wound properly – military surgeons were about a quick repair to preserve life and a definitive closure later when the patient was more stable and in a facility that could oversee the healing process. She'd put her foot down and, of course, in retrospect, he had to obey the chain of command, Victor/Vaughn had done what she'd asked.

However if it had been a deliberate choice on Topher's part to choose a military surgeon in order to not only save Dominic but to liberate the Dollhouse then it was genius. Which, of course, she'd never tell him, because the guy's ego barely fitted into the building now.

"How many more are there?" Victor/Vaughn asked.

"The leader, Valentine," Saunders said. "And five or six others. And Juliet. You can't kill Juliet. It's not her fault."

The active raised an eyebrow and Saunders said, "She's been brainwashed." Close enough to the truth.

"Fine. You, Saunders, come with me. We're going to take down the rest of these bastards." Victor took the rifle from Rance, and a small sidearm from a leg holster. He held out the pistol towards Saunders.

"I…I don't know," Saunders began.

"This is our chance," Victor/Vaughn insisted. "Irina, you need to stay here, watch the patient, just in case."

Sierra/Irina nodded. "Da."

"What about me?" Echo asked.

"You game? It could get rough, Maggie," Victor warned.

"I'm military too," Echo/Maggie said defiantly. "I'm not afraid."

Victor nodded. "Arm yourselves. Scalpels, sedatives, whatever you think will be useful." He cocked the rifle, liking the sound it made. "Then we retake this house."

\---

 

Saunders led the way downstairs, trailed by the imprinted actives. Adelle stood as they approached her.

"I'm sorry," Saunders said, and she hated to say it, hated to see the sudden shock in DeWitt's eyes, the pain she'd caused. She wanted to reach out to steady the woman, because DeWitt looked dazed, but the doctor had a job to do.

"Where is Rance?" Valentine asked, but he never got an answer.

Victor swiftly grabbed a guard from behind and restrained him, drew the scalpel across his throat and dropped to the ground with the limp body. He grabbed for the man's weapon; Saunders had successfully argued that a stealthy approach would be to their advantage, and he'd left the rifle behind with the reluctant Sierra.

Almost at the same time Echo took out another guard with a swift kick to his knee that made him stumble and fall sideways. She leapt on top of him and delivered an elbow strike to his face. She pulled the hunting knife from his boot and plunged it into his heart.

Saunders grabbed for the guard nearest to her, who was distracted by Victor's assault and plunged the syringe into the back of his neck. He began gasping for breath almost immediately and, clutching his throat, fell to the floor. She ducked down and grabbed his weapon, tossed it to Boyd.

Boyd caught the gun and stepped in front of Adelle, much as Dominic had earlier. The difference was, he was armed. Valentine, who was about to shoot Adelle, hesitated.

The guard who had been minding the civilians turned and opened fire but hit no one. Victor killed him with a single shot to the forehead.

Echo had taken her victim's gun by now and was holding it confidently towards one of the last upright armed man.

"Put it down," the last of Valentine's men yelled, training his weapon on Adelle.

Victor didn't have a clear shot, but moved quickly forward to cover Valentine which left Boyd free to react. Boyd casually shifted his weapon and shot the offending guard twice in the chest.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Well," Adelle said at last. "It appears the balance of power has shifted, Mr Raye."

Valentine, with three guns now pointed at him, uttered a sharp curse and lowered his own weapon.

"What do you want done with him?" Boyd asked.

Before she could answer, Saunders spoke up, urgently. "Ms DeWitt? I'm sorry about before. I didn't want to lie but we needed to surprise them. He's alive. Mr Dominic is alive."

Adelle paused, and Saunders saw the relief wash across her face. Then Adelle was all business again.

"Well, in that case, Valentine, you get to live," Adelle said. "Boyd, take him for a drive. Take his cell phone and wallet. Dump him somewhere unpopulated so he can think about his actions on his long walk home. Make sure he's alive, but make sure he understands how displeased I am at his behaviour."

Boyd nodded. "Got it."

"We'll move the bodies of your men to one of the local morgues," Adelle said. "Make sure you find them and deal with them appropriately. They died because of your incompetence and they deserve a decent burial with their families present. If you ever cross my path again, I will not give you the same consideration."

People moved about; handlers took actives away from the scene, the freed guards began dragging the corpses away.

"Topher," Adelle said, seeing him looking somewhat shell-shocked. "I was hoping you would come up with something brilliant. You rather excelled yourself, I think."

"Hey, what perks could he give me that you couldn't?" Topher said with a grin.

They watched the organised chaos a moment longer and then Topher sniggered. Adelle shot him a look.

"I was just thinking," Topher said. "I guess it wasn't Valentine's day."

\---

 

"Are you sure?"

Adelle nodded. "Quite sure, Dr Saunders."

"You know that this drug is experimental," Saunders began. "And that I'll have to keep him sedated while I carry out the protocol."

Adelle raised one eyebrow. "I think five days sedation would be preferable to what could be months of pain," she said.

"There are no guarantees it will have any effect," Saunders protested half-heartedly. They both knew Adelle had made up her mind.

"I will take full responsibility for anything untoward," Adelle said, forestalling the only other objection Saunders could raise. "Now, begin."

Adelle took one of Dominic's hands in hers. He was, as Saunders, had stated, still sedated. She watched as Saunders inserted the hypodermic into the IV line.

"Give me a moment," she ordered and Saunders left the room.

Adelle sat, her knees shaking. She hadn't sat down since Valentine had been disarmed. She'd supervised the cleanup, informed the Center that an attempt had been made to breach their security, downed two brandies. She hadn't sat, not even when using the phone, because she was afraid she'd not be able to get back up for a long while.

Now she let herself accept the reality of what had happened. Dominic had almost died, and that was unforgivable. She'd let Valentine go, but she was fairly certain the Center would take of him, by either killing him, or by using him to find and destroy their competitors. She had dealt with the situation to the best of her abilities, but it almost hadn't been enough.

She let her lower lip tremble, allowed her resolve to crumble and just a few tears to fall.

By the time Saunders came back, Adelle was composed once more. It was, after all, all about appearances.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks later; Dominic meets with Adelle to discuss his return to work, but he's more concerned with personal issues than professional ones.

It was dark outside and, stood this close to the window, Adelle could see her own reflection in the glass. Behind her, the door opened, and she waited a moment to see it was him, before she turned.

Dominic closed the door behind him. "Adelle."

"How are you?"

He crossed the room to the chair by her desk. "Saunders said I can come back to work tomorrow if I promise not to overdo it."

Adelle frowned. "If you need more time," she began but he shook his head.

"It's been over three weeks," he said.

"And without the experimental drugs it would probably be three more weeks, if not far longer." Adelle moved to sit on the edge of her desk.

Dominic nodded. "I know. I'm still not sure I appreciated being your guinea pig."

Adelle swallowed and looked briefly at the floor. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity," she said. "Nor take the risk that you might be permanently damaged."

He reached out and put one hand under her chin, tipping it to make her meet his gaze. "I'm not ungrateful," he told her. "And I need to be here…I need you."

She covered his wrist with her hand and tugged to move his hand from her chin to cup her cheek instead.

"I've missed you too," she admitted quietly. "But I couldn't keep visiting your apartment without arousing suspicion." The excessive amount of time she'd spent in the infirmary the first week had been bad enough.

He leant in and pressed his lips to hers. Adelle didn't respond and he drew back, disappointment etched on his features.

"Let me see," she said. "The scar. Let me see it."

After a moment's hesitation, he grabbed at the base of his loose black sweater – a much more casual garment than his usual suit – and pulled it up and over his head. He dropped the garment onto the chair and let Adelle's gaze wander over his chest.

Adelle reached out with her index and middle finger, and touched his skin, let her fingers straddle the white line that marred the flesh from the base of his ribs to his navel. She found herself holding her breath as she did so, felt the rough edges of the scar tissue against her fingertips, heard him draw a sharp breath as she neared the base of the incision.

"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.

"Only a little," he said. "Here." He gestured to a spot to one side of the scar. Aside from three or four marks left by the surgical staples the wound had healed well, though this area showed a mark shaped like a letter C. It was the site of the actual bullet wound, Adelle realized.

"Apparently Victor was somewhat overzealous in removing damaged tissue. It's taking longer to heal than the rest." He glanced down at his torso. "Saunders said the scars should fade completely if the drugs work as well as they're expected to."

"It doesn't matter," Adelle told him. She leant over and pressed her lips to this separate scar, feeling him shudder beneath her touch, from arousal rather than pain.

"It feels wrong to be concerned about it in front of her," Dominic admitted. "At least my scars aren't on show. Perhaps if she'd been given the drug her face would have healed."

Adelle slid from the desk and wrapped her arms around his neck. "It wasn't ready then. It was barely ready now." She laid her head on his shoulder and felt his arms close around her waist.

"The scar doesn't matter to me," she said again. "Better that than to lose you."

He froze, body rigid against hers. "You're being very sentimental," he said uncertainly.

"I know." Adelle planted kisses on his shoulder, urging him to relax. "Understand that for me to be so is an indication of just how much I care"

"So long as no-one else knows you do," he said bitterly.

Was this still about her lack of house calls? Adelle stepped back, pulling away from him. "One step at a time," she said. "I am not one to risk everything on a single hand. You know this. You've accepted it."

"That was before." He reached for his sweater. "Things have become somewhat clearer now."

Adelle took hold of the garment and refused to let him put it back on. "Because you were injured?"

"Yes." He let go of the sweater and Adelle held it against her, cradling it like a favoured pet. "Being that close to death makes you examine your priorities."

"Yours, maybe. Mine haven't changed." Adelle sighed. "I care for you, Laurence, I do. However I also care about my career. I will not jeopardize it for our fragile relationship."

He stared at her for a long moment. "So that deal you made with Raye, that was all part of the plan and not for my benefit?"

She shrugged. "Perhaps a little of both." She tossed his sweater onto her desk and began to undo her own white blouse.

"What are you doing?"

"This is what you want, isn't it?" Adelle pulled her blouse open to reveal her delicate lace bra. "You want to make love to me."

"I want more than that," Dominic muttered, his eyes glued to the bared cleavage. "But I guess this will do for a start."

She let him grab her, seat her roughly on her desk. Papers and pens were pushed aside as he began to kiss her face, her neck, her chest. His elbow caught the new desk lamp and it went the way of the first, three weeks earlier, smashing onto the floor.

"Wait, wait," she said. "If we do this, you take another week off to recover. I need my Head of Security at his best."

"Agreed," he said in a low voice rough with desire.

Adelle smiled and grabbed at his hands, putting them about her waist, forcing his fingers towards the zipper of her tight skirt. There was no way she could engage in intercourse wearing this skirt – not without extreme discomfort, irreparable damage to the garment, or both.

He tugged at the zipper and Adelle sighed in relief as the garment loosened its hold on her. Dominic tugged at the skirt, sending it to the floor. He left her hold-up stockings in place; Adelle however worked one foot against to other to remove her heeled shoes before she damaged her desk with their sharp points.

Adelle let Dominic set the pace, was pliant in his grasp as she allowed him to position her. This way he would find a rhythm and position that were comfortable for him; the last thing she wanted was for this act of pleasure to cause him pain.

Her concern may have been unwarranted however; his arousal was in control now, the hormonal surge of pleasure overriding any pain signals. He'd laid her down completely on the polished wooden surface now, urging her to turn until her whole body was stretched out upon the desk. Her hair splayed out behind her, cascading over the edge of the desk. Dominic had climbed onto the desk, imprisoning her parted thighs between his knees.

Part of Adelle, a rational part that always sat in judgement on her actions, watched and said, _What sort of woman lets an employee straddle her on her own desk and make love to her with what is bordering on desperation?_ The rest of her said _Shut up! I'm enjoying this and I don't care right now about the consequences_.

Adelle closed her eyes as he entered her, biting her lip in anticipation of ecstasy.

_You will care_, Judgmental Adelle warned. _You need distance from this man_. Any further chiding was lost in Adelle's climax.

*

Adelle had buttoned her blouse quickly and was sat on her leather chair, brushing her hair. Dominic was dressing more slowly, though this being from exhaustion or reluctance she couldn't say.

"Sorry about the lamp," he said.

"Don't be. I can buy another." She wondered idly if it was possible to order them in bulk, given their propensity to be broken.

"Some things can be replaced," Dominic said, looking directly at her.

_I want more than that_ he'd said…more than she could give, at least right now. So instead of answering that there were some things that were irreplaceable, Adelle simply said, "Indeed," and took up a hair slide.

Dominic stooped to pick up the debris from the floor.

"Leave it," she ordered. Then, softening her tone, "I have people I pay to clean up."

Her hair fixed, she stood once more and approached him, put her hands on his shoulders.

"Laurence, I'm in a very difficult position here. As you know, there are those who would love to see me fall from grace. This – whatever it is we have – wouldn't end my career, but it would damage my standing. And it would certainly damage your credibility."

He lowered his gaze. "I know."

"We need to be careful. We need –"

"Distance."

Adelle knew her surprise showed on her face. The same word her subconscious had used.

"We need to take a step back," Dominic said. "We can't let anyone know this ever happened. I understand."

She wanted to say "It won't be forever," but it sounded trite even in her head, and it was potentially a lie, so she said nothing. Merely nodded, and leant forwards, resting her head on his chest for a long moment. His fingers touched her hair, ran down to her waist, then pulled away.

Then she stepped back and the spell was broken.

"Do you need someone to take you home?"

He shook his head. "I drove here. I can get home."

"Very well."

She watched the monitors, watched him until his car left the parking garage. Then she crouched down, tight skirt and heels be damned, and gathered up the pieces of the lamp herself. There were some things she had to do on her own.

There would be no sex for a while. Not unless she made other arrangements. Oh dear, Miss Lonely Hearts might have to make another request for Roger. He was, after all, the perfect gentleman, someone she could confide in knowing his memory would later be wiped, someone she could have uncomplicated intimacy with, someone with whom she could be truly herself.

*

He'd been surprised at Adelle's depth of feeling, but Laurence hadn't been so naive as to think her outward expression of it would last. Even as he regained his strength, he was losing her. The potential losses she faced from engaging in a relationship with him became more real to her than the potential loss of his life. When she'd thought he was dying it had become acceptable to cross the boundaries; now the crisis was over, it was back to business as usual.

Dominic pulled up at a red light and waited. He'd wanted – needed – that last moment of intimacy with her, though he'd gained some bruises from engaging in the act in a somewhat unconventional location. The pendulum having swung so far in one direction, it would probably need to swing back in the other again. There would be distance, politeness, at least for a while. The intimacy would return, slowly. He could wait.

The light became green and he drove onwards, lost in thought.

The relationship would mean even better access to the secrets of the Dollhouse. The NSA would be proud if he managed to pull it off. For a moment he felt disgust at himself and thought _fuck the NSA_.

God forbid Adelle ever found out; he knew how the DeWitts hated traitors. He was reminded again of the first time he and Adelle had made love, and of his exposure to the DeWitt family. He really hoped Cara and Richard were happy, because God knew someone in that family should have some happiness. He knew that marriage was – always had been – out of the question for he and Adelle.

Anyway, he reflected, their relationship – whatever it actually was, however brief it had been, whatever it might return as – was between Laurence Dominic and Adelle DeWitt, not NSA Agent Dominic and Dollhouse Head DeWitt. He'd keep it that way and never refer to it in any report he made. It was the least he could do.


End file.
